Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [157]
The two friends were silent for a moment. There was a certain incongruity in discussing pirates in George Street. But Domenica had a further thought. “Do you know that pirates used to be quite active, even in British waters? They used to plague the south coast of England, coming ashore and carrying off the local women into captivity. Can you imagine going about your day-to-day business in your kitchen and suddenly having a large pirate bursting in and carrying one off ? What a shock it must have been.”
Dilly agreed. It must have been very disruptive, she thought. Domenica warmed to her theme. “Of course, it might have suited some women to be carried off by pirates. You know, the plainer sort of girl may have found it livened up her life a bit, don’t you think? In fact, one might just imagine groups of plainer girls having endless picnics on likely-looking cliffs, just on the In the Bookshop
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off-chance that a pirate ship might go past. Waving, perhaps, to attract attention . . .”
They both laughed.
“That’s enough about pirates,” said Dilly. “What about you, Domenica? What have you been up to?”
Domenica thought for a moment. What had she been up to?
The answer, it seemed, was very little. She had gone nowhere, she had stopped writing the paper she was working on, and she had hardly even spoken to her neighbours for months. It was a depressing thought.
“Very little,” she answered. “In fact, Dilly, I feel quite stuck. I’m in a rut.”
“Impossible,” said Dilly. “I’ve never known you to be anything but involved. You do so much.”
“Not any more,” said Domenica. “I’m stalled.”
Dilly smiled. “You need a new project. A new anthropological study. Something novel. Something that will make waves.”
Domenica looked at the ceiling. A new project was a good idea, but what was there for her to do? She had no stomach for further theoretical speculation on method and objectivity, and she had no idea of what opportunities there were in the field. New Guinea was stale these days, and the head-hunters were more concerned with human rights than they used to be . . . Besides, it was politically incorrect even to use the term headhunter. They were . . . what were they? Head re-locators? Or, by some lovely inversion, personnel recruiters?
“I have an idea for you,” said Dilly. “What about pirates?
What about a pioneering anthropological study of the life and customs of modern pirates in the South China Seas? You could live with them in their mangrove swamps and then sit in the back of their boats as they dash out to commit acts of piracy. Of course, you’d have to be completely detached. You could hardly join in. But you anthropologists know all about detachment and disinterested observation.”
Domenica, who had been cradling her coffee cup in her hands as Dilly talked, now put it down on the table with a thud.
“Do you know?” she said. “That’s a very intriguing idea. 332 In the Bookshop
There are plenty of studies of modern criminals – even the Mafia has been looked into by anthropologists and criminologists. But, as far as I know, nobody has actually gone and lived with pirates.”
“And would you?” asked Dilly.
“I feel like a change,” said Domenica. “I’m fed up. I need a new challenge.”
“This will be challenging,” said Dilly, expressing a note of caution. “In fact, I wonder if it would be altogether wise. These people sound as if they are rather desperate characters. They might not appreciate . . .”
But it was too late for caution. Domenica had gone to New Guinea on impulse; she had carried out her ground-breaking study of bride-price procedures amongst the Basotho on the passing suggestion of a colleague; and she had spent an entire year among the Inuit of the North-West Territories simply because she had seen a striking picture of the Aurora Borealis, pictured from Yellowknife. Pirates now beckoned in exactly the same way, and the call would be answered.
“It’s a marvellous idea,” Domenica said. “I shall get in touch with